


The Inescapable and Unforgiving Nature of Life

by morbid_solemn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_solemn/pseuds/morbid_solemn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now a published and highly praised author, Castiel Novak moves out of his luxurious apartment in New York City, to a rural country house in upstate New York. He blames both his insomnia and his family when he finds out from a stranger that he has actually purchased the wheat farm on which land the house is located. The stranger, Dean Winchester, who has worked the farm before, is happy to help out the city boy who has moved to the small town of Huntersville. Castiel uses his new book as the excuse for his move, but he can only lie for so long until the truth calls back for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Controversial

The office was bustling. Dean had often heard that saying, but he had never known the truth of it until he had entered this office. Editors, journalists, and photographers were scattered across the room. They moved hurriedly, eager to finish their work, find the next story. Dean stood among it all in awe and slight confusion. A man walked up to him. He was much younger than Dean, his beard clung close to his face and his brown eyes peered through glasses. 

“Mr. Winchester?” He asked. Dean nodded and the man led him to a small conference room. Dean sat down slowly. “My editor said that this story was too controversial to publish.” The journalist was curt. His work reflected that, and it was the reason Dean had chosen him over his peers. “But I think after I write it up he’ll change his mind. I think he’ll have to.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and laid it next to the paper pad that was on the table. 

“Where do you want me to start?” Dean asked. The journalist sighed.

“Mr. Winchester, I need sources to corroborate your story. Despite the name, Lucifer Novak has done a lot of good for New York City. He’s a very accomplished businessman and philanthropist. Accusing him of murder isn’t going to be easy.”

“I can get you evidence.” The journalist was pleased. This would be his breakthrough. He sat back in his chair.

“Okay, let’s hear it.” He gestured to Dean to begin.

“It all started with a man named Castiel Novak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is small because it's basically just an introduction to set up the story. Yes, the rest of the story will still be in Third Person POV. Please feel free to leaves kudos, comments, reviews, and please bookmark, subscribe, and spread the word!


	2. New York City

The beautiful apartment sat in undisturbed amidst the noise and chaos of the city below. It was quiet and calm, a stark difference from the world around it, as if it were placed in the wrong city. New York City could be loud and populated, cheap and busy. The thousands of overpriced apartments pushing most people to a budget that allowed them only enough to live from the inexpensive stores near them. This need for better priced living caused the growth of many small stores in the boroughs close by, the disease of low-prices spreading through the enormous city. Some areas of the city were able to conserve its elegance, far away from the city that never slept.

It was in this area of the city that Castiel Novak lived. His beautiful apartment was painted a dark gray with tones of whites and blacks decorating the tasteful wooden borders that lined the bottom and top of each wall. The apartment was wide, black floor panels lining the ground and meeting the walls at perfect angles. They shined like the rest of the house, practically reflective. 

Muuch of the apartment’s items were packed into boxes that stayed by the door.

Castiel Novak stood in front of his door and surveyed his apartment. He had been very picky about his home, and he had, in the process, run off two realtors (in his opinion, they were not cooperative and they did not understand that buying a home was a very important decision). The price of the home had been rationalized by the fact that Castiel was going to be working here and living here, so it would have to be perfect to do both. 

But he had recently realized he couldn’t do either here. At least not at the moment. He had been upset; he had just finished paying off the home in full, after finally receiving his check from work. He had just started on his new project, and all he had done so far was walk around his apartment and tend to his phone. Castiel sighed as a knock sounded on the door. He turned around and opened the door.

“What’s up, baby bro?” A man said, walking inside with a white plastic stick protruding from his mouth. His golden brown hair curled outwards from under his ears, and his eyes matched his hair, whiskey flecks dancing through the chocolate abyss. He was shorter than Castiel, and he wore a casual attitude that Castiel seemed to lack. Castiel muttered a greeting to the man, still unhappy about the “extended vacation” he now had to take. “This all?” Gabriel asked sticking a thumb at the boxes.

“Yes, Gabriel. I will be returning to my apartment. This is only temporary. Until I finish my book.” Castiel explained once again. Gabriel had asked many times before, and Castiel had always answered him, but it seemed to slip his mind a lot. Castiel began to theorize that too much candy could permanently damage your mind.

“And until Michael and Lucifer stow their shit, right? Well, sorry to be the one to tell ya, Cassie, but that means you’re never coming back to this apartment. At least not until we have to host two funerals.” Gabriel said.

“It’s not because of them.” Castiel lied. He knew he was abandoning his older brother in a storm they had both promised to brave together, but he couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Yeah, whatever. The whole fam followed Dad’s footsteps. I can't blame them. Not after Inias..” Gabriel’s voice lowered just above a whisper and Castiel's chest tightened. “Now I’m stuck with them.” Castiel stepped forward to place a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I truly am.” Castiel said, his voice dripping with regret. 

“Nah, it’s okay. I’d probably force you to go anyway. You don’t need to be mixed up in this psychotic nonsense. You’d better write that book and let me in with some of that moolah as mental reparations.” Gabriel joked, picking up two boxes.

“Of course,” Castiel joked along. He picked up the remaining three boxes and headed for the elevator. Once outside, they piled the boxes into the trunk of Castiel’s car. The darkness was already set around them, and Cas glimpsed a star which turned out to be a plane when Gabriel spoke.

“Hey, Cas.” Gabriel said, his voice soft. “You take this time away to focus on your future. You write that book, okay? Hell, try to make it a series. Make the people want more. I’ll figure Michael and Lucifer out, don’t worry about me. You write that story, and you call me every day, alright?” Gabriel pauses. “Cas, we’ve only got each other. We’ve gotta stick together.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel whispered, his voice hoarse over his dry throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t have to go-”

He held up a hand to silence his brother. “Castiel, don’t worry. At least I get your sick apartment, right?” He joked. After saying their goodbyes, Castiel got in his car to make the long drive to upstate New York.

***

The engine purred softly as Castiel drove through the state. Once he passed a sign that read “Welcome to Huntersville” The car drove over the uneven road and cushioned the impacts of each bump. Castiel doubted that the dirt path had seen a car in last few months. 

Castiel turned the steering wheel to the right slightly to park on the side of the road. He locked the car out of habit and the head lights blinked in the early lights of dawn to acknowledge him. He pulled his hands behind his back, stretching his shoulder blades. The hour ride wasn’t confining by any means, but he had grown stiff from being in the same position. The grass in front of him was divided by a stone path that led to the small house. Next to the path was a small wooden sign that read “Old Wheat Farm House” in white letters. The wheat farm stretched for miles behind the house, grain waving madly in the wind. Castiel smiled. Finally, peace.

The afternoon saw Castiel laying on the couch left by the previous owner, a rather crude, but nice man, named Rufus Turner. The house was cozy, a log piled on top of another to form a medium sized home. This was the kind of place that Castiel could focus in. He could find his inspiration in living in an environment that was different from his own. And, if there was an emergency, he was only about an hour away from home. It was at this time, when Castiel was lounging around the house, that he decided to call Gabriel. He picked up on the first ring.

“Cassie, how’s it going?” His brother’s easy going voice came through.

“It’s fine. Just called to let you know that I finished unpacking.” Castiel paused. “Anything about Lucifer come up yet?”

“No, not yet. You know how he is; it’s probably buried with Hoffa.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, but it’s the truth. And you know what’ll happen if we do anything.”

“Yeah.” Castiel’s voice was barely audible. He knew the consequences of dealing with his family, and when he had almost decided to fix the whole thing himself, he knew it was time to leave. The Novak family was toxic, and most members had set out to be by themselves. Castiel had believed he was stronger than that, that he could manage as long as he was with Gabriel, but it turned out like everything had in his life. It exploded in his face when he got too close. “I’m hungry, I need to get something to eat.”

“Kay, bye.” Castiel sighed and pulled himself away from the couch. He yawned as fatigue rippled through him. He thought about simply skipping dinner, but his stomach grumbled an argument. He walked to his car, pressing the button with an unlocked lock on it before reaching the vehicle. The lights flashed, still visible in the light of day. He drove down the path until he got onto Hickory Street, using the GPS to mentally map out the town. The town was fairly small; houses lined the streets, but further down the road revealed the boutiques of another small town. Castiel made a mental note to revisit the place. It was only when he passed another store that he realized that he was no longer in Huntersville. He was now in Watkins Glen. Castiel thought about eating in this town, but decided against it as he felt that he needed to get to know the town he would be in for at least a few months.

Huntersville was a town of mostly farms and small houses. A restaurant came into view soon and Castiel choose to eat there. He parked the car there, noting the small number of cars in the parking lot. While driving, he hadn’t seen many cars, but many homes seemed to be occupied. He parked his car next to a gleaming black ’67 Impala, the kind of car that you would stop to stare at. The Mercedes was a clear match, in both style and power, and Castiel felt a swell of pride for his own car. He looked up at the faded sign. The Roadhouse. Castiel assumed it was worth a try.

He sat himself at a small table and a friendly blonde woman with kind brown eyes took his order. He took in the sight before him; a restaurant with a good amount of people, someone with a mullet lying on pool table, and a few men seated at the bar, at which another woman stood, pouring drinks out. The woman turned to the pool table.

“Ash! Get off of there and help Jo!” When nothing happened she picked up a stray rag and threw it at the man with the mullet’s head. “ASH!” 

“Whu?” The man turned around on the table and pushed himself off. The woman pointed to the kitchen and the man, Ash, turned to go. “All right, all right.”

The blonde woman, her nametag read Jo, walked out of the kitchen with two plates in her hands. She walked over to the both and laid them down with a smile and some kind words. As she left to return to the kitchen, and hand snagged around her waist.

“Hey, Jo.” A drawling voice came from the man who put his arm around Jo. The man was much bigger than her, and if it weren’t for the look in her eyes, Castiel would have tackled the man. He didn’t consider himself a brawler, but Castiel would certainly help someone out if they were in trouble. Jo stared at the man with anger in her eyes and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. The man moved his arm to the side. “What was that for?” He asked. He was now turned to the side enough for Castiel to make out his features. 

Golden freckles scattered across his face like bright stars on the night sky, and his eyelashes spread down towards his cheekbones like the welcoming rays of the sun. His eyes were a vibrant green, as if found in the deepest rainforest, and with them, golden flecks fell through his irises like rain, random but beautiful. His lips were plush and full of color, like the most perfect rose petals, the structure of his face was chiseled, as if sculpted from stone, breaking away any imperfections, and, when finally done, completely perfect.

“Because you’re an asshole, Winchester. Now leave me the hell alone, or I’ll rip your arm off.” Jo said, bringing Castiel away from studying the man. Castiel was no artist, but something made him was to paint this man, to be able to memorize every inch of him. The man continued to press the woman.

“Jo, c’mon.” He whined. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Yeah, and you won’t, now leave me alone.” Jo turned and left, and thankfully the man allowed her to leave. Castiel began to eat, now aware of the food placed in front of him, left by the mullet-headed man. The man sighed, shrugged and sat at the bar. The older woman looked at him.

“You always come to bars drunk?” She asked him, and he just waved her off. She leaned forward. “Oh and if you ever touch Jo again, I’ll bury you myself after she deals with you. I’ll write this one off as drunken mistakes.” He shrugged, but Castiel could see that the man was nervous. Castiel finished his food and hoped to not cross paths with the irritable man, but he was secretly hoping that this town was small as small as it looked.


	3. Visitors

Castiel Novak sat at the wooden desk, fingers dancing over the keypad of his laptop. The sound of progress rang out in the form of the black keys pressing back against the inside of the computer. A small smile appeared on Castiel’s face as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes trailed over the neatly typed words on the virtual white page. His smile fell with the rest of his face as his heart filled with disappointment. 

“No, no, no.” He grumbled to himself, index finger pressed down on the “Backspace” button. He pushed himself away from the desk that was made of splintery, close-to-rotting wood, which was in a shape similarly resembling the author himself. Castiel pushed a hand through the black unruly bird’s nest that was his hair, only to have his hand get stuck in the knots of his entangled hair. After painfully pulling it out, he looked down at his shirt, realizing he had fallen asleep in the shirt. Two nights ago. Castiel had decided the best way to get a break from writing and to remain productive was to shower. 

The cool water felt like a godsend on his skin, washing away the grime of two days. He rubbed his hand along his sore jaw, the result of badly positioned sleep, and realized he was in desperate need of a shave. Just as he began to step out of the shower, warm water spiraled out of the showerhead, enticing Castiel for just another few minutes. He gave into the relaxing spray, but the shower decided to remind him of his former duties by unleashing a gust of arctic-worthy water upon him. He stepped out of the shower with a sharp inhale and wrapped himself in a towel, then turning to the sink. The shaving cream had been applied to his face and his hand hovered above the razor when the knock sounded on his door.

The house was small; a large cabin of sorts, so Castiel didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

“Just a minute!” He called, and the knocking ceased. He considered his options: washing the cream off of his face, or quickly shaving, and risking a nick or two. He decided not to be wasteful, and picked up the razor and began on his left side. Castiel was pulling his hand down his face on the underside of his jaw, when the knocking resumed. The sudden and unexpected sound caused Castiel’s hand to shake, which resulted in a cut on which blood began to bead. “If you could just wait another moment, please!” He hissed the last word out in frustration. He finished up as quickly as he could without another cut.

He pulled open the door of his cozy new home to greet the visitor. Castiel would have gasped if he wasn’t struggling for breath. Emerald green eyes stared back at Castiel, who was taking his time in observing the man once again. In the restaurant the man had looked good, but here, out in the sun’s rays, the man was simply luminous. The light freckles on his face were now darkly contrasting the glow of his skin. The man did Castiel a favor by speaking first, and snapping him out of his own mind.

“Don’t get many visitors?” He said.

“Uh-” Castiel replied, a stuttering, hesitant mess. The man looked back at Castiel with confusion.

“Guess not. May I?” The man, Winchester, Castiel remembered the waitress call him, gestured to the inside of his home. Castiel stood to the side and opened the door wider. Winchester looked down and caught sight of what Castiel was wearing; or rather, what he wasn’t wearing. “Dude, looks like I really should’ve given you those extra minutes.” Castiel’s confusion was resolved when he looked down, just as Dean had. His face light up red as he realized he was still in a towel that, now, threatened to fall. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Castiel said, his voice was low, drenched in embarrassment. He rushed into his room and he swore he could hear a small chuckle from the man. Castiel rushed to put on the first thing he could find, a black shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. He walked back into the living room, hoping that he now looked at least somewhat more orderly. “My apologies, this morning has been quite hectic.”

“Morning? Buddy, sorry to be the one to tell you, but it’s 3 in the afternoon.” Castiel’s eyes shot up as he turned to examine the world outside of his window. The sun was floating in the middle of the sky, as opposed to the morning, when it would have been flying high. “Rough night?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Castiel mumbled vaguely, only able to remember staring at a blank white page on his laptop. “Can I get you anything?” The man asked for a coffee, which Castiel hurried into his kitchen to make. Castiel tried to think of a reason for the man’s visit. Castiel threw out the idea of him welcoming Castiel to the town, as the man didn’t seem like the type. It was true, Castiel didn’t know him very well, but he had seen the man in the restaurant, harassing the waitress, and Castiel had decided then that he didn’t like the man very much. He had tried to forget the man, but his lack of human interaction and his quiet personality had caused him to remember the man. He hadn’t complained, of course, when the man’s image had infiltrated his thoughts, distracting him from the novel he should have been writing.

“Here you are.” Castiel placed one mug on the coffee table in front of the man, and sat down on the armchair opposite the couch on which the man was seated. “Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but is there a reason for your visit, sir?” Castiel tried to sip his coffee politely, but his body’s lack of caffeine had forced him to intake a rather large gulp.

“Yeah, sorry.” The man stuck his hand out across the table. “Dean Winchester.” Castiel shook it and introduced himself as well. 

“Yes, I saw you on Friday, I believe, at the Roadhouse Restaurant.” The words seemed to tumble out of Castiel’s mouth. He knew where the conversation would head, and instantly regretted saying it.

“The Roadhouse? I wasn’t there on Friday.” Dean frowned. When he tried to remember the previous Friday, and came up with a blank, he put the pieces together. “Dude, I’m sorry, I was really drunk on Friday.” He groaned with realization. “That’s why Ellen told me to stay away from Jo this morning.” He buried his head in his hands. “God, that is all kinds of awkward. She’s like my sister.” He looked up at Castiel. “I swear I’m not that much of an asshole. I was just super drunk.”

“Of course not. I’m sure everyone’s been there.” Castiel looked down at his coffee as he tried to think of a way to ask the man again why he was in his home. The man saved him once again, by speaking first.

“Bad first impression aside, I’m here to give you a few pointers about the farm.” Castiel frowned at the man’s words.

“The farm? I’m sorry; I believe you have the wrong person. I’m only renting this house.” Now it was Dean’s turn to be confused. 

“But you’re Castiel Novak. Rufus told me that you bought the farm.” Castiel shook his head.

“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.” Dean stuck his hand into his canvas jacket pocket, and pulled out a few folded papers. He opened them up, searching through to find the right one. He handed the paper to Castiel, who began to read through the paper.

“If you are who you say you are, then sorry man, but you just bought a farm.”

***

“No,” Castiel said as he began reading paper by paper of his contract to try and find proof that he had only signed to rent this house. “That can’t be right.” He threw the papers down, and his hands rested on the table in front of him, his gaze cast downwards.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean placed a hand tentatively on Castiel’s shoulder. He turned around.

“I just bought a farm.” He said, slowly. “I just bought a farm.” He said louder, eyes widening in awareness. “I can’t believe I just bought a farm!” He said harshly. Dean stared at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter. Now it was Castiel’s time to stare in silence. Dean caught onto his look and stopped laughing for a moment.

“Dude. I get people getting a tattoo by accident. Even people creating life by accident. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone buying a freakin’ farm by accident!” Castiel thought back to the closing while Dean doubled over again in laughter. He remembered drooping eyelids and fading words, loud yawns and many “excuse me’s”. 

“I believe my insomnia felt the need to contribute to the sale of this home.” Castiel muttered.

“Wait, wait,” Dean paused to catch his breath. “You mean to tell me that the entire time you were looking at the place, you didn’t realize the realtor was talking about the farm? That’s great!” Dean said, sarcastically.

“I had some… stressful family concerns to take care of while purchasing this farm.” Castiel tried to be as vague as possible to avoid having to answer any questions. Dean looked at him seriously, as if in understanding.

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” He said. “Listen Rufus just wanted me to give you some advice, but here’s the thing: I’ll help you. Harvesting, planting, the whole nine yards. I’ve been working on this farm part-time since I was nine.”

“Dean, I can’t ask you to-” Castiel began, only to be cut off by Dean.

“Castiel, c’mon. You can’t work the entire farm by yourself. It’s impossible. I’ll work for you. Work down at Bobby’s has been kinda slow.”

“A-Alright.” Castiel said slowly. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow sound good?” Dean asked. At the thought of seeing the man again, Castiel felt the corners of his mouth lift up. 

“Yes, that sounds perfect. Thank you, Dean.”

***

The morning sun was good to Dean, shining brightly, highlighting his features. Castiel, however, found this to be the only good aspect of the morning. He had woken this morning in a puddle of drool, with his head on top of his elbow. His laptop had run out of energy shortly after he had, staring at the man with its empty black face. He had finished eating and there was enough caffeine in his system to give Castiel the time to rid himself of his unpleasantness. Dean had knocked on his door shortly after 10, and now they were in the field of wheat.

The field had been divided into two sections, and each held 20 furrowed trenches of wheat. Castiel and Dean were now standing by the 12th row. The wheat was already planted, and was now swaying to the inaudible song of the wind. 

“Rufus had planted these in the spring. Before he found out. Y’know cancer.” Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and stayed quiet.

“I didn’t know. I’m very sorry, Dean.” Castiel said. The elderly gentleman hadn’t mentioned the reason he was selling the farm.

“What? He didn’t tell you?” Castiel shook his head. Dean laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Strangest thing, though. Skin cancer, out working here, I get. But getting it from the ears? I’ve never heard of it.” Dean shook his head.

“It’s been a very recent development.” Castiel said. Dean looked up at him. “I think I read about that somewhere.” Dean nodded in understanding. He was silent for some time, while he thought about Rufus.

Dean reached down and pulled a grain from the crop and handed it to Castiel. “Try this.” Castiel rolled it around in his hand, feeling it between his fingertips. Dean stared at him expectantly and Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Chew it.” Castiel stared at the yellow grain for a moment before popping it into his mouth. Dean heard one crunch, and waited. 

Another sounded, then another, and suddenly Castiel was brought back to his childhood, when he, Gabriel, and his other older brother Inias would watch horror movies while Michael was out. Michael would Gabriel for letting them watch scary films. After all, it was Michael who would spend the night with Castiel when he would acquire nightmares from remnants of the movie. But now, Castiel was thinking of how he would always pull a kernel out of the bowl of popcorn. This was one of the few memories Castiel held that spoke kindly of his family. It wasn’t very long before the Novak family met its misfortune.

“That means it’s not ready to harvest.” Dean said, and Castiel drew his gaze back to the man in front of him. “When it’s ready, it’ll crack and then soften up. This batch,” Dean stepped back to look over the field. “Will be ready around next week. Not the best time to sell the farm, but there weren’t many people were looking to buy.” He laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and he walked past him. “At least you have me here to help you.” He said over his shoulder. “I’m sure the two of us could do it.” He began to walk back to the road. Castiel had to jog slightly to catch up with Dean. 

“The two of us?” Castiel called out. “I need to write!” They were back by the road by now.

“You’re strange.” Dean said. Castiel cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinting slightly at Dean with his lips pulled slightly over his teeth. “One, you bought a farm by accident. Two, I’ve never heard of an author moving to a small-ass farming town that’s not even in the south. Three, you look like a freakin’ bird with that head-tilt!” Dean had been counting on his fingers while he spoke. 

“Well I refuse to believe that’s not typical of most people.” Castiel crossed his arms.

“What, being a farm-buying-bird-like-author? Yeah, no, I’m sure everyone’s like that.”

“No, that everyone’s strange.” He walked up the path to his home. He stopped when he arrived at his door. “I may be strange, but at least I’m not as thick as you.” Castiel didn’t hear a snarky reply, a chuckle of even a huff of laughter. Castiel didn’t know Dean very well, but he did know that the man enjoyed talking and that he liked Castiel, so he felt it safe to assume he liked to have the last word. This is why Castiel was confused when the man didn’t reply. He turned away from his front door. “Dean, that was a joke.”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” He began to rub at the back of his neck. “Um, see you tomorrow? There’s not that much that needs to be done, but I think the wheat could use a good watering.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be here, of course.” Castiel said, dumbly.

“Yeah,” Dean pointed to the house. “I get that.” He chuckled. “See ya, Cas.” He opened the door to his Impala, the sound of its engine trailing off slower than the car drove. Castiel watched as the car drove away, waiting until he lost sight of the black Chevrolet. He entered his home with a sigh when the topic of his unwritten book floated through his thoughts. He sat at his desk, which also happened to be the place that had recently become his bed. He stared at the blinking black line that stood at the indentation of the white electronic page. Castiel got up out of frustration and decided the best way to make this break at least slightly productive, was to do something he had been procrastinating.

The thought of asking Dean Winchester immediately flew into Castiel’s mind. He shot it down instantly; Dean was very straight, and Castiel was very gay. The amount of times he had tried to convince himself of this simple fact was nauseating, but he couldn’t draw himself away from the thought of full pink lips and star-like freckles. The universe was in this man and he was in Castiel’s heart and mind.

Castiel picked up his phone from the side of the desk. He scrolled through his contacts, his thumb slowing as he approached the letter ”D”. The name “Dean Winchester” was now on the screen, but then Castiel’s thumb was scrolling again and then pressing the part of the screen that read “Gabriel”. He pressed the green telephone icon and held the phone against his ear.

“Hello Gabriel.” Castiel said when he heard the other line pick up.

“Hey baby bro.” Gabriel paused to toss a mini Snicker’s into his mouth. “All’s quiet ‘round here. Your publisher called, so I told her you were out and that you’d call her.” Castiel groaned at the thought of his publisher. “Book’s not coming along so well, huh?”

“Naomi told me that it would be best to publish another book soon, so that I can take advantage of the spotlight that’s on me. Nightland was such a success that she thinks that metaphorical spotlight will stay on me for at least a few years, but she believes the sooner the better to release it. But I have no idea what to write about.”

Gabriel pushed himself away from the kitchen counter. He walked over to the living room, lying down over the white leather couch. He popped a lollipop into his mouth, sliding it over to the side to maintain the ability to speak. “I’m telling you; easiest way to get the book out and a hell of a lot more dough?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Sequel. Hell, a whole damn series. If everyone liked Nightland then they’re definitely going to read a sequel!”

Castiel held the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he poured coffee into his mug. “Yes, that would be a good idea, but the way I’ve ended the first book- it’s just too complete. A sequel would seem like a desperate attempt to put out a book.”

“Cassie, I’m pretty sure that’s what this is.”

“Yes, but I can’t let anyone know that, Gabriel. It’s a characteristic of a bad author. I’ll think of something.” The line faded to silence as both brother tried to figure out a way to address the true nature of the call.

“Castiel, nothing has come up about Lucifer. And nothing will. You know how he is. Michael hasn’t said anything, same as the rest. Dad‘s been awol. Hasn’t said anything since it happened. Not even a phone call. Inias tries to call, you know that. But Hannah and Hael are scared. Castiel we’re alone on this.”

“I know, Gabriel. But I can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm.”


	4. Healing Wounds

The late July sun produced a heat wave that was uncommon this far north. Although New York experienced heat haves, the heat that beat down on Dean Winchester was far past excessive. The sun was a treacherous ally, providing light and nourishment for the crop, but heat and irritancy for Dean. He swiped a hand across his forehead, where sweat began to bead immediately again. He turned off the combine machine’s engine and stepped out of the door. He did so with the elegance of practice, unlike the way an amateur would. 

Dean walked through the row of wheat until he reached the divide of the field. His hand stuck out by his side, indistinctively, the pads of his fingers pushing lightly through the rows of wheat. He arrived at the back of the large cabin, and walked to the front of the house. He knocked on the door, leaving a hollow noise to echo through the house. Dean heard steps, a crash, and then a curse. He began to chuckle to himself as the door opened.

Castiel appeared in the doorway as the wooden door disappeared. His blue eyes were dull, as if still unawake. Castiel’s shirt was stain-ridden, as if not changed for a matter of days. His hair was uneven as always, but this time, it was all pushed to one side. Dean glimpsed the inside of the home, his head moving to the side slightly. A blanket was draped over the edge of a chair that was pushed away from a desk with a laptop on it. The broken remains of a ceramic cup lay on the ground by the edges of the blanket.

“You, uh, you do know you have a bed in this house, right?” Dean pointed to the inside of the house. Castiel felt his face heat up as he turned his gaze downward. 

“I’m not the greatest sleeper.” Castiel stated vaguely.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Dean mumbled. “So the combine broke down.” Castiel blinked at Dean. “The machine that harvests the crop?” Castiel sighed in response. “Yeah, so the header isn’t turning like it should. Keeps shifting only between the two rows. Probably just a busted gear or two. I could fix it, but we’d be wasting two days. I can ask Bobby to fix while I work the field.”

“But you can’t harvest the crop if you don’t have the machine.” Castiel stated.

“No, the machine is the new high-tec way to do it. We have a few sickles out back. But it’ll take longer. Which is why you’re going to help me.” Castiel’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“No, no.” Castiel shook his hands. “I can’t. I’m here to work on my book. I-I can’t-” Dean stuck his head back into the doorway to glance into the home again. He glanced at the empty screen, completely devoid of any writing.

“Yeah,” he said, sticking his thumb out at the laptop. “Got a lot of progress going on over there.” Castiel turned around to look at what Dean was pointing at. The empty screen stared back at Castiel. “C’mon,” Dean said putting his hand on the back of Castiel’s shoulder. “You need some time off of writing, Cas.” Castiel felt a response on the tip of his tongue, but it died away when Dean led him away from the house and his arm fell across Castiel’s shoulders. Dean led him to a small shed behind the house. The shed was small and matching much of the furniture in the house, as its wood was rotting away. Dean pulled the rusting metal handle to open the door. Four curved metal blades were thrown into a bucket, and four long wooden poles lay against the back left corner behind the bucket. A hose was held up on a hook, and a few sprinklers lay on the ground. A few bags of fertilizer leaned against the wall in the same fashion as the poles. Various items littered the ground, but Dean pulled two poles and two sickles out, closing the door.

“Sprinklers?” Castiel asked. “I thought there would be a system installed in the field or something of the sort.”

“Yeah, I know; old-fashioned. But Rufus likes old-fashioned. A salesman came through here some time ago and Rufus ran him out of here in the blink of an eye.” Dean’s thoughts wandered to Rufus, who was wasting away in a hospice. While Dean focused on the past, in the present, Castiel was busy trying to shove the sickle into its wooden pole. It was time for him to show Dean that he could handle farming; assembling a sickle was an easy start. He slid his hand higher up the small metal hold, but the edge of his palm slid up the sharp blade, and he left out a hiss of pain as blood began drip. Dean turned towards him as the sickle fell from his grip.

“Cas!” Dean held his hand with his own. He examined the wound; Castiel’s hand was curled when he gripped the blade, but now it was uncurled and the wound stretched through his palm. “Jesus. Your first day and you’ve already hurt yourself.” Dean mumbled.

“I’m fine.” Castiel said, gruffly, pulling his hand away from Dean’s grip. But Dean was resilient, and wasn’t having it. He held on tighter, not letting go of the wounded appendage.

“You need to have your hands in perfect conditions to farm.” Dean pulled Castiel gently towards the house again. “C’mon I’ll wrap it for you.” Dean continued to hold Castiel hand, and Castiel placed his left hand on his right wrist. Dean used his left arm to guide Castiel at his side by his shoulder. Dean opened the door by pushing it with his back, his hands never leaving Castiel. He sat Castiel down on the couch, and left to the bathroom. He searched through the medicine cabinet, and came back into the living room with disinfectant, cloths, and bandages. 

“How did you-” Castiel began to ask.

“I’ve been around here enough. I know my way around. Here,” Dean pulled Castiel’s hand towards himself. Castiel uncurled his fist again, and Dean used a cloth to wipe away most of the blood. “This might sting a little.” Dean poured the disinfectant o the wound, the clear liquid spreading through his hand. Castiel hissed at the sting. Dean poured more disinfectant onto the bandage before wrapping the wet section over the cut. “That blade was rusted, so if there’s any sign of infection, we have to get you over to the hospital, okay? Tetanus shots and everything.” Castiel simply nodded, wondering how a man who he had only known for a two months could care so much for him. A nagging voice implied that maybe Castiel’s feelings were being reciprocated, and Castiel looked up at Dean. Green eyes were fixed on wrapping the wound up, but when they noticed Castiel’s staring back at them, a smile broke out on Dean’s face.

“My brother, Sammy, and I used to work here. I had to fix him up a few times, too.” 

“I didn’t know you had any family.” Castiel wondered.

“I’ve got this little brother, Sam. He’s so smart, man, you wouldn’t believe it. Sure he’s from this small town, but he’s in Stanford now. That kid.” Dean seemed to forget where he was; his head titled higher and his gaze looking into some world of the past. This look was a frequent one on the man’s face.

“You miss him.” Castiel said. “He’s the only family you have left, isn’t he?” Dean looked back at Castiel, who now began to shake his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking.”

“Yeah. He’s all I’ve got. My mom died when I was younger, my dad pretty soon after. Bobby Singer was a family friend and took us in. Sam was only four, he barely remembers a thing. And I’m thankful for that. The way my dad was after mom was gone?” Dean looked down with a rueful smile on his lips. “Yeah. I’m glad to say Sam remembers growing up with Bobby.” Dean was silent for some time. Castiel realized he had struck a nerve and respected his silence with some of his own.

“My mother passed away when I was young also. My father had, well, decided to leave my siblings and I to ourselves, recently.” Castiel looked down. His thumb traced over the bandage on his other hand, his fingers curling inward. Castiel noted the careful work that Dean had done. “I can’t blame him, really. My family has its,” Castiel paused to find an adequate word. “Issues. Many of my brothers and sisters have followed in his footsteps, traveling to different parts of the world to avoid each other.” Castiel sighed. “My brother Gabriel and I had managed to stay together through everything, but it seems that it was too much for me.” Dean was confused to hear a sudden and bitter laugh erupt from Castiel. “No matter how many times I lie to myself, the truth remains the same; I didn’t come here to write my book. I came here to escape my troubles. And although I’ve told Gabriel I will return, I know that I do not plan on returning.”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was small, in a strange sort of awe. “Family is family. It don’t matter what they did, they’re still blood. You can run from them as long as you want, but they will catch up with you. Whether it’s family or problems, or both.”

“I am quite aware of that running away won’t solve all of my problems. I’m sure that much of my family knows that. We’re all just trying to enjoy the tranquility before the inevitable sets in. But I’m sure that by then we’ll all have hell to pay.”


	5. Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The chapter I spent like two and a half months writing. So sorry about the wait, and sorry but I won't be updating until next month. Sooo much work, sorry, guys. Also, sorry it's so short.  
> Lots of apologies right now, wow.

The wooden logs were warm on Castiel’s skin as he leaned against the side of his house. He saw Dean with a sickle, picking up the wheat and dropping it into the bag that was draped over his shoulder. He straightened up and held the sickle behind his head and swung the simple tool causing the wheat to fall. Castiel lowered his gaze to his hand and sighed. He flexed his hand, opening and closing it, glaring at the bandage that ran across his palm. When he looked back to Dean, he was already done with the fifth row. Placing his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice, Castiel yelled.

“Dean!” When the other man looked up, Castiel waved him over. Dean placed the bag and the sickle down by the crop and jogged after Castiel, who, by this time, was nowhere to be seen. Castiel was in the kitchen when Dean walked into the log cabin. 

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked as he wiped a hand across his forehead. He could see into the kitchen from his spot in the small living room. He watched as Castiel worked, and Dean found himself tilting his head to get a better view as Castiel turned from him to gain better access to the cupboard above his head. Dean’s neck began to redden while Castiel pulled two glasses out of the cupboard.

Castiel walked into the room with two glasses of ice water. He handed one to Dean, who readily accepted the offering. Castiel took his own polite sip while Dean took no time to finish the entire the glass. When he looked back at Castiel Dean muttered a small apology, but Castiel simply laughed him off. “I just made some lunch, and I was wondering if you would like to join me?” 

“Sure, Cas.” Dean said, sitting down at the couch. Castiel smiled and wandered back into the kitchen. It was a few minutes later when Castiel returned with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of ice water. They sat on the couch, eating in amiable silence. Castiel looked to Dean, and found that his body was covered by grime, his skin tan under the heated scrutiny of the sun. A thin sheen of sweat layered his body. 

“Dean, maybe I could-” Castiel tried, but Dean wasn’t having it. 

He shook his head and turned to Castiel. “No way. You are not helping me. I’m not gonna have you out there with that gimp hand of yours.” Dean got up off the couch, walking over to the door to return to his duties. “Actually,” he turned back to face Castiel. Castiel looked up eagerly, wanting to help Dean in any way possible. “My friend, Benny, is gonna be passing through these parts to catch up with some of his family in Canada. He knows his way around a farm pretty well, and he can help me. Just until the combine comes back. Bobby says he has to replace the whole the rotator, and the parts won’t come in until next week.”

“Dean, I’m not sure.” Castiel says vaguely. Dean looks at Castiel.

“Cas, listen, I can do my fair share of the work, but without the machine I can’t do shit. I need a second hand around to harvest the crop before it’s too late.” Dean held a look of confusion.

“Yes, Dean, I understand, but I don’t think I could afford another person working for me.”

Dean chuckled nervously. “You bought this farm.”

“And that means I have an unlimited amount of money, right?” Castiel replied sarcastically, squinting slightly at Dean.

“Okay, then why don’t you wait until the wheat is sold to pay Benny?” Dean offered, and Castiel immediately felt bad. He had reacted harshly to a simple situation. But Castiel’s stubbornness had pushed him to find another reason why hiring Benny would be wrong. 

“Judging by this cabin, I can see that Rufus didn’t make much from his produce. How can I possibly pay someone with this little money?” Castiel questioned, his sarcasm returning. This comment didn’t sit well with Dean, who sensed the offensiveness in the comment. He grabbed Castiel’s shirt collar and shoved him against the wall composed of logs. Castiel felt his head slam against the wood with a hollow thud.

“I can guarantee Rufus did more to earn whatever money he had than you did.” Dean pushed his knuckles further against Castiel’s throat. “I bet you just sat back on your ass and inherited it.” Dean pushed Castiel’s head against the wood again and dropped the black haired man. “You better figure out farming for yourself; I quit.” Castiel was a leap on the ground and Dean was a shadow in the door.

***

The sun wasn’t close to setting, and Castiel felt that he should at least try to harvest some of the crop. At least having an immediate goal would pry his wandering mind away from stray thoughts of Dean. Castiel soon found himself outside under the heated scrutiny of the sun, a hand set above his squinted, blinking eyes. 

Castiel gazed over the rows of wheat. The crop waved in the wind and Castiel realized just how much it there was, dancing strangely in the gust. He began to count the rows, soon losing count. The farm had never seemed quite so big. He held the woven bag in his hands that was half filled with crops and slung it over his shoulder. He felt the stiff, splintery wood of the sickle’s pole in his grip, the bandage on his palm squeezing with a sting against the skin. It was then that Castiel was reminded of Dean’s words. 

“Hey, let me see that hand of yours, Cas.” Dean had said just a few days ago, as Dean approached the cabin when the sun was shining high over the horizon. Castiel looked up at him with big blue eyes. Dean chuckled at Cas, “So god damned cute.” Dean’s words fell under his breath and away from the other man’s ears. He placed his open palm on the empty air in between the two. 

Castiel didn’t feel his hand dropping onto Dean’s, but when the contact was made, Cas could feel the warmth of Dean’s hand under his own. Dean unwrapped the bandage with deft fingers and soon the wrapped was undone enough for Castiel’s wound to be seen. “Looks better than it did yesterday.” Dean’s finger traced slightly over the slash. “I don’t see any sign of infection, so you should be fine.” Dean’s hand holds Castiel for a few moments longer, his mind taking him far from this place. He sees this hand tracing up his body, running through his dark blonde hair, wrapped around his own hand. 

Castiel looks at Dean in confusion, head titling, he asks, “Dean? Is something wrong?” The sound rips Dean from his daydream and back to reality.

“Nothing.” Dean murmurs. “You better go work on that book, Castiel.” 

Castiel squeezes his eyes along with his grip on the wooden pole at the memory. “No.” Castiel says with one word. He won’t do this to himself. He has a farm to run with absolutely no farming experience. His mind trails to his unwritten novel and he has to shake himself away from the thought.

Castiel brings the sickle high over his shoulder, an action he’d seen Dean perform, and he swings low, accidentally squeezing his hand as the motion is carried out. He hisses in pain and drops the sickle, which lands in the row across from him. Castiel stares down at his hand which is cradled in his other one. The red liquid begins to bead through the bandage and Castiel cries out in frustration. He glances to the row of wheat, noting that he had unevenly cut the wheat, unlike Dean had with the previous rows. He remembers faintly hearing Dean say that it was crucial not to cut the crop unevenly. It was harder to grow the wheat again, or it affected the soil in some way, Castiel couldn’t remember which for the life of him.

The sickle and bag lay on the ground, abandoned, as Castiel walks back to his cabin. The sun is hiding, dipping just under the horizon. Castiel pushes the door of his cabin open. And he walks to the bathroom for the medical supplies. As he sits down, he glances at his phone and notices that it’s blinking out a mechanical rhythm of red, signaling a missed call. He doesn’t bother unlocking the phone, figuring that it was probably just Gabriel calling to regale him of stories of his family’s shenanigans. 

The antiseptic stung as Castiel dabbed at his freshly opened wound with it. He wouldn’t admit it to himself anytime soon, but Castiel felt his heart drop as he remembered how concerned Dean was with his injury and how he used to care for Castiel, taking his hand carefully into his own. The comfort was evident in the contact, in the glances, in the worried expression. There was no need for verbal confirmation, not when this was something Castiel knew in his heart. 

The slash glared back at Castiel, petulantly whining for his attention. He scowled as he unrolled the bandage roll, feeling its soft touch under the pads of his fingers. He carefully wrapped it around his palm, holding it in place with his thumb. After Castiel was satisfied that that the amount of bandages would be adequate, he placed the medical supplies back it their rightful place in the medicine cabinet. Castiel picks up his phone from the table as he makes his way back to the couch. The missed call from Gabriel prompts him to return the phone call. Gabriel picks up on the first ring.

“Cas.” He says, and all at once Castiel goes cold. The serious tone is one that is never used by Castiel’s older brother. 

“Gabriel?” Castiel questions with a voice full of uncertainty.

“There’s something wrong.” Gabriel’s voice is quieted, as if hiding or scared. “Lucifer’s getting pretty cagey and Michael just decided to step up.”

“What?” Castiel wondered. What did Gabriel mean by “step up”?

“Michael wants to do something about Lucifer. Luci already knows this, and,” Gabriel finishes all in one breath until he’s unsure if he should continue. “Cas, it’s not looking good. Something’s about to happen, I can feel it.”

“What do you want to do? You’re at my apartment, so Michael will probably come around soon. You should run, Gabriel.” And with that Castiel felt cowardly. “I know it’s not the best option, but it may be the only one. Or you could come here! No one knows about this place except for me and you!” On the other line, Gabriel sits himself down on the edge of Castiel’s bed. He sighs and pauses to think how hopeful his younger brother is. 

“Nah, they’d find us.” Gabriel smiles. “Least I can do is give you a head’s up, right?”

“Gabriel, no, this is ridiculous. All we have to do is go public with the Crow-” Castiel is cut off midsentence by Gabriel.

“Quiet, Castiel!” He hisses. Gabriel runs a hand through his hair, his brown locks falling down upon his face soon after. “You know we can’t. Lucifer would have us bagged and floating down the river before we dialed the number, you know that.”

“No we don’t, Gabriel. We can do something! We have to!” Castiel pleaded. “I, for one, am not going to allow him to control our lives. This ends now. If we do something now, if we call the police, we can do this.”

“Castiel, why don’t you get this? You remember Inias. You know what Lucifer is capable of. There’s nothing we can do. Trust me, I’ve thought of it all. We can’t come together and defeat him like this is some sort of quest, Cas. Life doesn’t work that way. It’s crazy, and unpredictable, and unfortunate, and tragic.”

“Gabriel.” Castiel’s voice was hoarse, unable to believe the speech that he had heard over the line. “We have to be able to do something.” 

“We can’t.” His tone was firm, absolute.


	6. Inias

The shrill ringing of his phone shook Dean half awake. Groaning, he placed a hand over his eyes and used his other hand to reach for the phone. The noise ended when he pressed the “Answer” button and heard the rough laughter of Rufus Turner.

“I can’t believe it.” Rufus paused. “Actually, I can.” 

“Rufus, it is too early for this shit. What the hell are you talking about?” Dean replied harshly.

“That city boy, Novak. His realtor called me askin’ if I wanted to buy back the farm because Novak here wants to go home to the city.” Dean was up now. “Knew it was too much for the city slicker.”

“Rufus, I gotta go.” Dean said, hurriedly.

“What?” Rufus may have continued, perhaps to berate Dean, but he wasn’t listening.

Dean reached for his covers, pulling them off and grabbing his jacket is a swift motion. By the time he was out of his house, he already knew that taking the Impala would be unnecessary for a ten minute walk. He was running down Hickory Road with a heart filled with the hope that Castiel would still be there when he arrived at the cabin. 

Dean wasn’t sure why he was currently running down the street at 8 AM to beg the man that had previously ridiculed his friend. Quarrels were common among friends, especially so at the start of such relationships. This fight was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Hell, Dean and Benny had been at each other’s throats when they had met. Undoubtedly, Dean and Castiel could make it through this minor road bump.

The knob twisted easily in Dean’s hand and the door flew backwards under his weight to reveal a partially confused partially amused Castiel. The sight of Castiel was refreshing. It had been two weeks since Dean had seen him. He was still dressed in his night clothes, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, staring at Dean. 

“I—Cas you can’t go–!” Dean managed between breaths. 

“Did you run here?” Castiel asks slowly, though he was unsure that of other possibilities. Dean noded haltingly, as he began to realize how this may appear, while trying to get his breathing under control. Castiel looks down. “And why are you in boxers?” Castiel returned his gaze to Dean’s eyes just as Dean lowered his to Castiel’s feet. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean placed his hand on his neck and Castiel felt himself smiling at the way Dean’s features were being highlighted by the redness stretching over his face. “Cas, here’s the thing. You might be an asshole, which, by the way, you totally were; that crap about Rufus was completely out of line. But I think you can do this. Taking care of a farm is hard, sure, but we can do this.” Castiel furrowed his brows at the mention of “we”. “I don’t want to see you leave, Castiel.” The words were out before Dean could pull them back in, but he knew it was the right thing to say after seeing the look on Castiel’s face.

“Dean, I’m sorry for everything that happened that day. I just, my family has been very hectic and –.” Castiel sighed. “I know that’s no excuse. I’m very sorry, Dean.”

“It’s okay, Cas. I get it.”

“Okay. But if we are doing this, then that means we will be farming.” 

“Good with me.”

***  
The sun was high over the heads of Castiel and Dean as they worked the field. The crop was slowly diminishing and now only the right field and a few rows on the left remained. A low whistle rang out and the two men stood up rigidly.

“Well, what do we have here?” The Cajun accent left Castiel even more perplexed. But a smile broke out on Dean’s face and he walked forward to the man.

“Benny!” Dean hugged the man and Castiel felt something twist in his gut. They broke apart and Dean stood to the side and turned to Castiel. “Castiel Novak, this is Benny Lafitte. Benny, Cas.” The two men stepped closer and shook hands. Dean turned back to Benny. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Well, I couldn’t just abandon you, brother.” Benny joked. Castiel felt himself ease up with Benny’s last word. “I mean with all the begging and pleading you were doing, I just couldn’t.”

“Yeah like hell.” Dean laughed, and the warmth on his face sent Castiel to a different place. “You’re here to pick up a few extra bucks.”

“A few?” Benny said. “I don’t recall saying that.” Dean frowned and stepped in closer.

“This is for Maine.” He whispered. When he stepped back, Benny scoffed.

“You’re still pulling that?” He asked, and Dean smiled. A scythe was in his hand and a bag was over his shoulder before Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and pulled him away from the conversation.

“Benny’s a good worker, and despite what he says, he’ll be happy with what he gets.” As they neared the house, Dean turned to face Castiel. “Listen, Cas, I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean –“

“Dean this is your fault; don’t apologize.” Dean looked at Castiel. Dean remembered grabbing this man and pushing him against a wall. He remembered yelling at this man, yet he claimed that he was not to blame. Dean’s initial perception of Castiel may have been truthful after all.

“Yeah, well,” Dean stuck a thumb over his shoulder to motion to the field. “I have to, um, get back to –“

Castiel nodded his head and gestured to the field.  
***  
Wheat swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the sweeping wind. The crickets began their percussive ensemble. The bright, pumpkin flames in the sky had dimmed and began to vanish, allowing the gradient of strawberry lavender to arise, which gave way to the backdrop of ocean darkness. It was here that the white specks of paints could best be seen in intricate choreography. 

Castiel was blind and deaf to all of this, however; he sat inside and his fingers flew over the keys of his laptop. The thoughts that filled his head the clack of the keys covered the sound of the door opening. 

Castiel’s hair reached to different directions: some pulled to the sofa, some to the ceiling, and others to the window. His seawater eyes peered intently at the screen never glancing down to watch his fingers grace the keys. His pink lips were cracked and pulled to a straight line, but as his eyebrows furrowed, his lips parted slightly.

Not a piece of this was lost to Dean. He watched Castiel closely as he worked. Then, as if he remembered where he was, he cleared his throat as an introduction. Castiel turned in his chair to look up.

“Dean.” 

“Cas.” When Castiel remained silent, Dean continued. “Have you been writing this whole time?”

“Well, yes. I found a note I had left myself about a rather interesting plot development, and –“ 

“Dude you need to get out of that chair.” Castiel’s head titled, his way of asking Dean to explain. “You’ve been sitting there for like, eight hours.” Castiel turned to peer outside of the window behind his laptop. Dean was right; through the darkness of the outside, the moonlight shone brightly. Suddenly, Castiel was aware of how tired he was. A yawn left him just as his stomach cried out. “Did you forget to eat, too?” Dean shook his head as he walked to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some sandwiches.”

A few minutes later, Dean reentered the living space with two plates holding two sandwiches each. Castiel walked over to the sofa without a word while Dean placed the plates on the coffee table. Dean spoke as he held his sandwich by this mouth. “So Mr. Big Shot Writer forgot the time and forgot to eat. What are you even writing about anyway?”

“I’m writing about a man named Castiel, who was forced to murder Dean, a dick who thought his annoyances were appealing.” Castiel was straight faced as he ate the sandwich.

“Oh c’mon, Cas, you know you love me.” Dean chuckled.

“Yes, well, I suppose I do.” Castiel sighed. His eyes widened as Dean stared at him. He had meant jokingly, but after he said it, he realized that the words reflected his own desires. The words hung between the two, a dangling conversation that neither wished to amend or alter. Castiel felt himself lean towards Dean; one hand place the sandwich on the plate and the other reached for Dean’s star struck face. All the while, neither flinched, but as Castiel’s lips landed softly on Dean’s, their eyes closed. Dean moved one hand to the nape of Castiel’s neck while the other landed at the small of his back. Castiel placed his now free hand on Dean’s hip as he slid on top of him.

“Cas.” Dean breathed. Castiel’s eyes lit up as though he had never heard his name uttered before. The words there, known between them. It seemed to Castiel, that mentioning them would ruin their meaning. 

“I know, Dean.”

***

“This won’t go unnoticed! You can’t hide this, Lucifer.”

“When has anything you’ve ever said been true, Michael?”

The argument ensued as Castiel pulled Gabriel aside from his place near the doorway. They walked soundlessly to the next room. “What happened? They were fine when I left!” Castiel whispered.

“Cas, you need to go.” The serious tone scared Castiel, but he shook his head and refused to leave. “Lucifer did something bad.” Castiel rolled his eyes. That was Lucifer’s daily agenda. “No, like really bad.” He peered through the room to ensure that they weren’t being listened to. “Michael caught him carrying a big bag out the of the office’s backdoor.” When Castiel remained unsurprised, he continued. “It was body-sized, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Lucifer was terrible, but murder? “Gabriel, Lucifer’s employee, Crowley has been missing. I went to his firm and his secretary asked me if Lucifer had filed the report yet. Apparently, she had already informed Lucifer of it.”

“Castiel, I’m serious. Leave. Now.” Castiel simply nodded and ran to his room quietly. He packed some clothes into a duffel and grabbed what he could. He would return for the rest later. He ducked out of his bedroom window. As he left, Castiel failed to notice that the argument had ceased.

Castiel closed his trunk, and Inias came into view. “Castiel, you don’t have to leave.”

“I have to. It’s not safe, Inias. You and Gabriel should come with me.” Castiel was hopeful, despite the obvious impossibility. Inias smiled sadly.

“I can’t do that.” The smile was gone. “Gabriel is too scared to do something about Lucifer and Michael is –“ Inias shook his head. “I have proof that Lucifer killed him. The store across from Lucifer's frim got him on their security cameras.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Lucifer smiled thinly as a knife slid into his lower back. A strangled choke escaped his lips as Castiel lurched forward. His eyes searched Inias’s for any sign of life, any chance that his older brother could be okay. 

“Inias?” Castiel asked weakly. He already knew there was nothing that could be done. He looked up from Inias’s fallen body in his hands to Lucifer, who stood over his brother’s body still holding the bloody knife. His fist clenched and the pain of his brother’s untimely demise filled Castiel, as he felt himself leap at his older brother.

Lucifer laughed. It was a full bodied laugh, the kind Castiel had shared with Inias many times. Lucifer easily moved out of Castiel’s way, and was unhurt. “It’s not gonna be that easy, Castiel.” He smiled malevolently. His left hand neared Castiel’s shoulder, and, with minimal impact, pushed Castiel to the ground easily. “You can’t hurt me. Now,” he turned his back on Castiel. “I’m going to destroy that camera footage.”

“I just saw you commit murder, Lucifer! I’m a witness! I can testify against you!” Castiel called out as Lucifer walked away.

“No you won’t.” Lucifer didn’t even stop walking. Castiel shuddered at the truth of his comment and at the thought of his own cowardice.


	7. Accused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm editing this story, so you might have to reread the first chapter because there was a pretty big change. Also, I changed the location of Huntersville. It's now 45 minutes away from New York. This is where the story really picks up, and, after reviewing my notes and outline, I realized that the last chapter is - well I can't seem to find the right word for it. But it's going to be something you'll want to be around for. So look out for it, because it's right around the corner.
> 
> Also, I think something weird happened and this chapter got deleted because I posted this one yesterday, so here I am reposting it.

Castiel awoke, covered in sweat, with a racing heart. He sat up in his bed and found himself breathing hard.

“Hey,” the voice sounded easy and comforting. Dean pulled Castiel down towards him. “You okay?”

“I – I, yeah. Yes, I’m alright.” It was then that Castiel realized that Dean was lying in his bed. He remembered last night and felt it necessary to ask: “Did we…?”

“Oh, no. No, we didn’t.” Dean smirked and Castiel felt his breath catch. “Can’t say I’m not looking forward to it, though.” Dean’s teeth showed perfectly and Castiel scoffed.

“You’re incorrigible.”

***

At Castiel’s apartment in New York, a knock sounded at the door, and a man with sandy brown hair and eyes of the iciest seas was at the door of Castiel’s apartment. Gabriel opened the door to the sight of this man. His glossy black shoes were free of any dirt or grime from the street. His suit was perfectly tailored, his tie exactly centered. To Gabriel, Michael had always been the pretentious brother, but now the times had changed. Lucifer brushed Gabriel aside and strode into the apartment.

“Lucifer, I’m going to offer you something.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, then, I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen,” Gabriel asserted himself, despite his shaking fingers. At the thought of them, he felt Lucifer notice them. “I’ll take the fall for Crowley.” Lucifer smiled.

“And why would you do that, Gabriel?”

“I go to prison for your crimes, and you leave Castiel alone.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Lucifer’s smile spread and thinned. “How about,” he stepped closer to his brother, “I just kill you?” His bluntness almost made Gabriel shiver.

“If you do, all the evidence I have against you goes to The New York Times.”

“Wow. That would be great if you had any evidence.” Gabriel’s blood turned cold as Lucifer called his bluff.

“Oh come on, baby bro. Where do you think all your tricks came from?” Gabriel’s brows furrowed as the knife sliced through his flesh.

***

When Castiel’s phone rang, Dean let out a groan. “Leave it,” he said. Castiel chuckled as he pulled the covers off. Dean’s arm tightened around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer. “Leave it.” Castiel sighed as he slid back under the covers.

“I suppose it could wait.” Castiel let his hand lay over Dean’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbones. “From the time I saw these freckles in the Roadhouse, I’ve longed to trace them.” Castiel muttered.

“Well, then, why don’t I show you the whole thing?” Dean smirked. He was interrupted by the voicemail notification on Castiel’s phone.

“Dean, I really must get this.” Dean sighed, but released his grip on Castiel. Castiel unlocked his phone and tapped in his PIN number as Dean dramatically threw his arms towards Castiel while mouthing “I miss you”. Castiel snorted at his obnoxious behavior but his expression dropped as he heard his brother’s recorded voice.

“Castiel, I’m just going to say this because I know you’re going to try to stop me. Please don’t hang up and come running.” A sigh came over the phone. “Cas, you don’t deserve this. Inias didn’t deserve this. You don’t need this crappy, fucked up family weighing you down. So I’m going to take care of it.” Gabriel’s voice was hopeful, but sad. “You better stay there, and finish that book. Write a bunch! Grow old with Dean. He really loves you, it sounds like.” Gabriel paused one last time. “Castiel, I love you. Take care of yourself. I think this might be it.”

Castiel reached for his car keys before thinking.

“Cas?” Dean called out to the empty apartment.

***

Castiel dialed Michael’s number, tapped the speaker button, and threw the phone on the seat next to him. He was greeted by the “Now leaving Huntersville” sign when Michael’s voice sounded on the line.

“Hello? Castiel?”

“Michael, Gabriel’s been staying at my apartment. He called me and something’s wrong. You need to go there now.” Castiel paused, deciding whether or not he should mention Lucifer. “I think he tried to speak with Lucifer.”

“I’ll go there now.” Michael knew Gabriel was in fatal danger when Lucifer’s name was mentioned. The city was only 45 minutes away.

***

The cold metal handcuffs burned against Castiel’s aching wrists. He did his best to rub them, but the metal table was in the way.

“So you arrived in the city at what time?”

“We’ve already been over this, detective. I left Huntersville at 9:15 and I was here around 10.”

“And you know that the time of death was around then?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m just saying that it was your apartment.”

“I hadn’t lived there for the past month!”

“But you had the keys, didn’t you?”

“Yes, because it was my apartment!”

The detective threw a file on the metal table and sat down. Castiel eyed it, and the man gestured towards it.

“Go ahead, you can look through it. It’s about your brother Inias.” Castiel’s fingers hovered above the file as his eyes went wide with realization.

Outside the interrogation room, Michael met with another detective.

“I don’t understand,” he said fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you holding Castiel when I’m telling you it was Lucifer?”

“Castiel is the only lead we have. And it was his apartment. And we don’t even know why Lucifer was there or why he would even want to kill Gabriel.”

“Because he’s a sociopath! He puts on a smile and he plays at being a person but he’s far from it. He helps out in the community and pretends to be a philanthropist but it’s all a ruse to pry your eyes away from him!” The detective sighed.

“Mr. Novak, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but they’re pinning Inias’s murder on Castiel, as well.” Michael paled. “It’ll be easier for them to prosecute if they have two similar murders. I’m sorry.” Michael’s hands formed fists as he clenched his jaw.

 

“I want to speak to that detective right now.” The detective scurried off, eager to leave Michael in his anger. The previous detective, the one who spoke to Castiel, took his place.

“Yes?” He asked, irritated.

“Why are you accusing my brother of lies?”

“Oh yeah, you think Lucifer did it.” The man had a smirk on his face Michael wished to rid him of. “Well, that just doesn’t add up.”

“Why? Because he’s such a great man?”

“Well, sure there’s that. Then there’s also the fact that he has no motive. But you…”

“What about me?” Michael asked, his eyes burning with defiance.

“Everyone knows that down at Novak headquarters you and Lucifer have been fighting.”

“It wasn’t a large dispute.”

“He accused you of embezzlement. I wouldn’t consider that small.”

“That was a private, baseless claim.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” The detective left Michael there and returned to his brother, nodding to the other detective in the room.

“You can’t charge me with the murders of my brothers without evidence.” Castiel said, not even allowing the man to sit.

“Both murders included a knife to the stomach. Just like that book of yours, huh?”

“That wound is extremely common, and Inias was stabbed in the lower back!” Castiel replied.

The detective smiled. “You never opened that file.” Castiel paled. The detective turned to his coworker. “He never checked the file, did he?”

“No he did not.”

“So how would you know that? You were gone when I spoke with your brother about the attack, and he wanted that little detail to remain a secret between him and the police. Now why don’t you tell us the truth?”

“Lucifer did it.” Castiel said. The detective groaned.

“Not this shit again. Just tell us the truth. We know you did it.”

“He did! I saw him come up behind Inias, because Inias had proof that he killed Crowley!”

“The employee from your brothers’ company? No, no, no, see there was no foul play suspected there. In our book, Crowley’s still missing.” The detective sighed. “Do you still have this proof?”

“No, Lucifer took it. But Inias said he found pictures on the security footage of a nearby building.”

“We searched the video footage of all the surrounding buildings. Nothing.” He nodded to the other detective, who began to walk over to Castiel.

“Wait, no please, please!” But Castiel’s cries fell heard as the door slammed shut.


End file.
